


Sweet Breakfast

by suqua (cwsunrise)



Series: Bunker!Boyfriends 'Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boyfriends, Breakfast in Bed, Bunker, Domestic, Eggs, Fluff, Human Castiel, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-21
Updated: 2013-04-21
Packaged: 2017-12-09 02:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cwsunrise/pseuds/suqua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel's attempt at bringing his partner-boyfriend-lover-person breakfast goes awry, but not terribly so.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> If you've been on my tumblr, you probably know how much of a sucker I am for domestic destiel bunker boyfriends. If you haven't, well... I have a few bitty bitfic-written for it before on there somewhere. Yup.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

Castiel doesn’t look up, concentrating on moving the beaten eggs in the frying pan he was holding. He was standing at the stove, wearing a big tee-shirt and pajama pants with bed hair. Ideally, he wanted a nice, fluffy omelet and definitely didn’t want it to burn.

He startles a little at the press of lips against his neck, warm and wet and very distracting. Dean’s crossed from the hallway door to behind Castiel, not touching more than his mouth against Castiel’s nape. “Dean,” he says, tone a bad attempt at cross. “I’m cooking.”

There’s a nip at the back of Castiel’s neck that raises a gasp in his throat. The frying pan manages to stay in his grip, goosebumps rising and cheeks warming as he looks behind him. “Dean!”

Dean’s holding onto his waist, looking over his shoulder. He’s smiling, shirtless and obviously fresh from sleep. “I know that you’re cooking, Cas. Oops, watch out. Eggs are burning.”

“Damn it!” Castiel swears, pulling the pan off the heat and scraping the eggs onto the plate. It looks like they’ll be a bit more crunchy than he had intended. He’s frowning at them when Dean leans over and kisses his cheek. “They’re burnt, Dean.”

Peering over, Dean doesn’t seem too guilty about it. He turns the burner down a little, going to the fridge. “I’ll make you a new omelet, Cas. Just gimme a minute. I thought you liked ‘em with cheese, anyway...”

Castiel’s voice is petulant and his arms cross, still looking at the sad little pile of overdone omelet. “ _That_ one was for _you_.”

Dean freezes, carton of eggs in hand, and he stands there a bit awkwardly for a second. “Oh,” he says after a second. Then there’s more silence before he sighs and puts the eggs down. He rounds Castiel, hands on his angel-boyfriend-person’s hips and avoiding his eyes a bit. “Hey. Sorry. I was just messing with you.”

It takes a few minutes, a few kisses, a few sweeps of Dean’s hands over his spine, before Castiel goes pliant and shifts his body fully into his. He kisses him back a few times, gentle. Then suddenly he’s smiling and Dean’s smiling because he’s smiling. Castiel couldn’t stay even a bit mad at him for something so trivial. They kiss gently, Castiel’s hand sliding into Dean’s hair just behind his ear. He can feel that it’s getting a little long, almost time for a haircut, by the fact that when he squeezes he can get a tiny grip on his hair. Dean makes a sharp inhale when he does.

That creates a tiny spark, produces a crackle in the air, and Castiel’s tongue slides smooth as silk into Dean’s mouth. Dean moves a little closer and suddenly Castiel’s lower back is pressed to the counter beside the oven with Dean’s warmth pressed against his front.

They’re pressed tightly together, kissing like idiots when Castiel notes the sound of shuffling coming from the hallway. Sure enough, Sam’s woken and seeking his breakfast. He doesn’t startle when he sees them. One of his eyebrow does kicks up a notch but he just says, “Morning,” while he grabs his breakfast of Greek yogurt, a banana, and coffee.

“Morning.” Dean manages out and Castiel repeats the same. They don’t tear apart, each already flushed enough that blushing would’ve been useless. When Sam shuffles back out to leave them be, Dean leans over just a little until his forehead and Castiel’s touch. “Hey, Cas. How about I make us breakfast in bed, huh?”

Castiel can’t help but smile when Dean does this, the sweetness of the touch pulled it out of him every time. He pretends to think about it, making a small humming noise. “French toast,” he says finally, smiling when Dean groans.

“That’ll take me like, 20 minutes,” Dean bitches, but he’s grinning so Castiel knows that he’ll do it.

Slipping out from Dean’s arms, Castiel steps toward the hallway. “I’d like mine with powdered sugar on top of the syrup, please.”

“Oh my god, Cas. Can I get you _anything else?_ ”

Castiel looks especially earnest when he says, “Orange juice, please.”

Dean throws an oven mitt at him as he rounds the corner to the hall and it smacks him right on top of the ass.

 

* * *

 

About a half hour later, Dean comes back to their shared bedroom with a tray (an actual tray!) of food. He's trying his best not to spill anything.

His mouth drops open as he walks in.

"Cas!" he groans, bringing the tray over to the bed and placing it in a reasonable spot. "Did you seriously fall asleep again?"

Castiel is curled in a fetal position on top of the covers, one arm underneath the pillow. At Dean's voice, his body startles awake and shivers. "Erm...no," he says, yawning. He sits up, rubbing his face.

Dean’s not mad but he pretends he is. “You did! After I went and cooked you french toast.”

The smell of it’s hit Castiel by now and he breathes the cinnamon-sweet scent in deep. He gets onto his knees and moves closer to the tray. “It looks amazing, is that-?”

The powdered sugar on the toast looks unusually similar to the shape of a heart. Castiel picks up the plate and admires that Dean had someone managed that special touch.

“Shut up. Eat your breakfast,” Dean says, pretending he isn't blushing as he reaches for the tray and picks up his own plate. It doesn’t have French toast on it.

Castiel frowns at Dean’s plate. “Why are you eating that?”

Sitting on the plate is the burnt omelet that Castiel had left in the kitchen over a half hour ago.

“It’s my breakfast,” Dean says, cutting off a chunk with his fork.

Still confused, Castiel watches him. “It’s gone cold by now. And probably rubbery.”

Shrugging, Dean pops the chunk into his mouth. He makes a valiant effort to chew it, but winds up letting it drop out of his mouth. His face goes red and he covers his blush with one of his big hands. “Oh man. It is awful.”

Castiel watches him, a little perplexed. “Why did you try to eat that? A _cold_ omelet?”

Dean’s ears are red too. “Isn’t it obvious, Cas? I’m trying to be the cool, romantic guy here.”

Going quiet, Castiel ponders this a moment but it doesn’t take him long. “Oh! You’re attempting to reciprocate the care I put into trying to make your breakfast. That’s completely unnecessary, Dean. We can share mine.”

“You’re damn right we can,” Dean said, reaching over and stealing Castiel’s fork. He doesn’t take the plate, merely cuts off a piece of it with the edge of the fork. He is about to bring it to his mouth when he glances up and notes Castiel watching him with a faint smile on his face.

“What?”

Castiel’s smile widened.

“No, really, Cas. What?”

“You were going to eat it. That omelet.”

A scant coloring of red goes over Dean’s nose and cheeks again, brightening his freckles a little. “Yeah, yeah. We already covered this. I couldn’t even pretend. Sorry.”

Apparently, Castiel wasn’t finished. “You were going to eat that burnt omelet, which had been sitting for over thirty minutes and had gone rubbery and cold. Because you wanted me to feel good, because you love me.” He’s so matter of fact about it, Dean can’t stop blushing.

Dean has to wait a minute before he can speak. “I also made you some damn good French toast. Now eat it before it gets cold too.” He brandishes the fork toward Cas, bit of toast still on the end, for him to take the utensil.

Instead, Castiel leans over and his smiling mouth closes on the piece of French toast. There’s those important seconds of eye contact that feel way longer than seconds as Castiel slowly chews the soft, sweet toast.

“It’s very good,” he tells Dean.

Dean doesn’t exactly react as Castiel had intended, gets a huge smile on his face and Castiel almost asks him what when he realizes Dean’s starting to laugh. “What’s so funny?” He demands, but Dean just points and Castiel looks down, gasps.

He’s managed to lean over and dip the stretched-out stomach of his tee shirt into the syrup on his plate.

Castiel protests, “It isn't funny, Dean!”

Dean's still grinning when he reaches over and cups Castiel's face to kiss his pouting, syrup-sweet mouth. 

**Author's Note:**

> There is an extremely likely chance that I'm going to put all of my bunker!boyfriends fics up into a series with this one because there are multiple now. Including one that I haven't posted at all.


End file.
